http://room2breathe.org/blog/ Preached at The United Church of Moscow en-us Nucleus CMS v3.32 Weblog http://backend.userland.com/rss http://room2breathe.org/blog//nucleus/nucleus2.gif http://room2breathe.org/blog/ http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=219 1 Corinthians 12: 4-13 & Acts 2: 1-21
Roger C. Lynn
May 11, 2008
Pentecost Sunday
& My Final Sermon Preached at The United Church of Moscow

Twelve years and five months - countless worship services - 537 sermons - weddings and funerals - laughter and tears - Bible studies and group discussions - enough potluck food to feed the whole city - work parties and movie nights and so much more! And always, always, always the precious, sacred connections of friendship rooted in the Spirit! I look out at your faces and I am filled to overflowing with a sense of gratitude and appreciation for the support and encouragement and love which I have received from you in overwhelmingly abundant measure. My life has been powerfully shaped by my association with this amazing congregation and community.

And now I prepare to take my leave of you. God's Spirit is calling me on to new experiences which I am only beginning to glimpse. And I remain firmly convinced that the very same Spirit of God is also calling you, both individually and together as a community, to explore fresh new opportunities for ministry. Where our paths will take us has not yet been revealed to any of us. And the only way that we dare to take even the first step down those paths is by remembering that we do not go alone. We are on Spirit-led journeys of faith, and we are here, now, in this moment because God has been faithful and abundantly gracious thus far. And so it is that we can move on from here with confidence that God will continue to be faithful and abundantly gracious in each new moment of our lives.

What will our living look like as we step out into the futures to which God is calling us? My prayer is that we will remember to trust, and that we will remain open to the movement of God's powerful Spirit. What we know from a variety of places in scripture, including both of our readings for this morning, is that whenever and wherever people allow themselves to be open to God's Spirit the experience is defined by connection and purpose. The people in Acts were bound together by the profound experience of barriers being shattered and replaced by communication, understanding and acceptance. They were no longer divided by the realities of being ". . . Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs . . ." (Acts 2: 9-11) Their differences didn't go away. Our differences don't go away. Each of us is unique and we each have unique ways in which we contribute to God's work in the world. But our differences become a strength rather than a weakness when we allow ourselves to be bound together by the connecting power of God's Spirit blowing through the midst of us. "Once you were no people - now you are God's people" writes the author of 1 Peter.

And we are not transformed into the community of God's people only to be cast adrift in an ocean of meaninglessness. The Spirit of God which binds us together also sends us out to bring healing to the world. Spirit-led living is purposeful living. In John's version of the Pentecost story Jesus breathes on the disciples and they are filled with the Holy Spirit, and he says to them, "As God sends me, so I send you." (John 20:21-22) When we allow God's Spirit to blow in our lives, the wind of God fills our sails and sends us out into the world with purpose and direction and power. We go out with our "variety of gifts" (1 Corinthians 12:4), inspired and empowered by the one Spirit of God, to meet the needs of the world. "To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good." (1 Corinthians 12:7)

I do not yet know what specific shape our Spirit-led living will take, for you or for me. What I do know is that if we will seek to be open to where the Spirit might lead us, we are in for the adventure of our lives. And neither we, nor the world around us, will ever be the same again. What else should we expect from the Spirit of wind and fire! We will find meaning and purpose, healing and wholeness, abundance and joy taking shape in ways far beyond our wildest imagining. So let us go from this place into Spirit-led living. Let us step boldly onto the path, empowered by God's grace, led by God's Spirit and sustained by our love for each other. Amen. Twelve years and five months - countless worship services - 537 sermons - weddings and funerals - laughter and tears - Bible studies and group discussions - enough potluck food to feed the whole city - work parties and movie nights and so much more! And always, always, always the precious, sacred connections of friendship rooted in the Spirit! I look out at your faces and I am filled to overflowing with a sense of gratitude and appreciation for the support and encouragement and love which I have received from you in overwhelmingly abundant measure. My life has been powerfully shaped by my association with this amazing congregation and community.

And now I prepare to take my leave of you. God's Spirit is calling me on to new experiences which I am only beginning to glimpse. And I remain firmly convinced that the very same Spirit of God is also calling you, both individually and together as a community, to explore fresh new opportunities for ministry. Where our paths will take us has not yet been revealed to any of us. And the only way that we dare to take even the first step down those paths is by remembering that we do not go alone. We are on Spirit-led journeys of faith, and we are here, now, in this moment because God has been faithful and abundantly gracious thus far. And so it is that we can move on from here with confidence that God will continue to be faithful and abundantly gracious in each new moment of our lives.]]> Sermons http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=219 Sun, 11 May 2008 11:00:00 -0700 http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=218 Acts 1: 6-14
Roger C. Lynn
May 4, 2008

The Church was in a time of transition. What was had come to an end. What would be had not yet taken shape. And so it was that the faithful found themselves gathering together, feeling lost and confused, sad and overwhelmed, waiting for what comes next. Doesn't that sound remarkably fresh and current? And yet, the situation I am describing is the first century church from the beginning of the book of Acts. It can be helpful sometimes to remember that the path upon which we currently find ourselves has been trod by others who have gone before us. We are not alone. We are in good company, and we have opportunities to benefit from their experiences.

As Luke tells the story, both at the end of the Gospel of Luke and at the beginning of Acts, there was a period of forty days following the first Easter when the faithful followers of Jesus experienced his resurrected presence in a variety of forms and settings. As they struggled to make sense of what had happened the living presence of Christ among them began to guide them in the process of reshaping their lives and their world. Fear and confusion gradually gave way to peace and understanding. Brokenness was replaced by wholeness.

It is no accident that Luke describes this period in terms of forty days. Forty is one of those numbers that makes frequent appearances throughout scripture, and it is usually significant and worth paying attention to. Luke is almost certainly not trying to tell us that five weeks and five days had elapsed on the calendar. It isn't about the passage of time in a chronological sense. This is about time as it is measured by our souls. Forty is code language used to tell us that something important is at stake here. As one of my clergy colleagues put it the other day, "it is 'a long time' and the amount of time it takes to do what needs to be done." So it is that the Hebrew people wandered in the wilderness for forty years, figuring out what it meant to be God's "Chosen People." Jesus spent forty days in the wilderness, figuring out what his ministry would look like. And the followers of Jesus spend forty days figuring out what life was like on this side of the resurrection. "Forty days" is transition time - the time between what was and what is yet to be. It is the time it takes to let go of what was and get ready to embrace what comes next, remembering that what is coming will be connected to what was but it will also be different from what was.

And the temptation when we find ourselves in such a transition time is to get through it as quickly as possible. Jesus' disciples ask him, "is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?" (Acts 1:6) Can we get on with it now? Or in the words of every small child who has ever been in the back seat of the family car on a road trip, "Are we there yet?" We frequently fail to recognize any value in the experience of being in the time of transition. It is simply what must be endured before the next thing comes along. We just want it to be over and done with, preferably now, or at least very soon. One of the lessons we can learn from the experience of the disciples at the beginning of Acts is that sooner is not necessarily better. There can be value in learning to wait faithfully. "It is not for you to know the times or periods that God has set..." Jesus says. (Acts 1:7) God's timing is not our timing, and faithful waiting is all about becoming attuned to God's timing. Faithful waiting is not passive. It is not sitting in the doctor's waiting room distracting ourselves by reading a three year old magazine. Faithful waiting means being actively engaged in seeking God's presence, God's guidance, God's timing.

And so at the end of the forty days Jesus departs from them. The way things were has come to an end. What comes next will be something other than simply "more of the same." And waiting for that next stage of the journey can be uncomfortable. We want assurances. We want the comfort of knowing. And sometimes what we get instead is the opportunity to practice faithful waiting. In the story Luke tells about Jesus' assension, the disciples are standing around staring into space with their mouths hanging open when they are called back to present reality by the heavenly visitors who ask, "why do you stand looking up toward heaven?" (Acts 1:11) In other words, don't get stuck - don't become so focused on what was that you are unable to start getting ready for what will be. And for those early followers of Jesus "getting ready" meant being intentional about spending time together in prayer.

The writer of Ecclesiastes reminds us that there is a time for everything. Sometimes it is time to prepare. And sometimes it is time to wait. And always it is time to remember that in God's time we will receive the power of God's own Holy Spirit to do what needs to be done. May we actively, intentionally, faithfully, prayerfully wait for what is coming next from the gracious heart of God.The Church was in a time of transition. What was had come to an end. What would be had not yet taken shape. And so it was that the faithful found themselves gathering together, feeling lost and confused, sad and overwhelmed, waiting for what comes next. Doesn't that sound remarkably fresh and current? And yet, the situation I am describing is the first century church from the beginning of the book of Acts. It can be helpful sometimes to remember that the path upon which we currently find ourselves has been trod by others who have gone before us. We are not alone. We are in good company, and we have opportunities to benefit from their experiences.]]> Sermons http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=218 Sun, 4 May 2008 11:00:00 -0700 http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=217 John 14: 15-23
Roger C. Lynn
April 27, 2008

Where do we find God? How do we "see" God? In John's Gospel the lines begin to blur and the distinctions fall away. Who God is blends into who Jesus is, Jesus blends into who the Holy Spirit is, and ultimately the whole sacred package blends into who we are. In our reading for this morning we find Jesus saying, "I am in God, and you in me, and I in you." (John 14:20) How do we "see" God? Just look around! God is everywhere, if we have eyes to see.

One of the authors I enjoy reading just for fun is Charles DeLint. He writes about the world of faerie, with sprites and pixies and all the rest. The twist is that this world exists right along side our world, and if you know how to look for it then it is there for you to see. Most people don't see it because they don't expect to see it. That is something like the way John's Gospel describes the realm of God. People don't recognize God's presence in the world because they don't know what they are looking for. If we understand God to be some sort of supernatural being (whatever that means) who lives up in heaven somewhere (whatever that means) and only occasionally has any interaction with the inhabitants of this world, then the chances of actually experiencing God are pretty small. But what if we expand our understanding of God? What if we begin looking for God not just "out there" but also "right here"? Perhaps then there would be more "God sightings."

So what do we look for? How will we know when we are seeing God? According to John's Gospel and the related book of 1 John, a good place to begin looking is love. "Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God. Everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love." (1 John 4:7-8) In John's Gospel, Jesus says, "If you love me, you will keep my commandments." (John 14:15) And then a few verses later, just in case we might be tempted to misunderstand or overlook the meaning, the meaning is made abundantly clear. "This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you." (John 15:12) And set between those two bookends we find the real heart of the matter - a description of how it is that we can "see" God. "Those who love me will keep my word (follow my path, live my commandment, which is love), and God will love them, and we (Christ, God, the Spirit, everything that is holy and sacred) will come to them and make our home with them." (John 14:23)

Where can we see God? Look for the love! It really is as simple, and as far reaching, as that. Look for the love. When you watch a mother stop what she's doing to dry the tears from the face of her crying child who just skinned his knee, or skinned his heart, you are looking into the face of God. When you hear about students from the K-House at WSU spending a week in New Orleans volunteering their time and energy to participate in the ongoing recovering effort in that region, you are "seeing" God in this world. When you watch as someone sets aside all their judgments about the color of a person's skin, or how much money they make, or what faith tradition they are a part of, or their sexual orientation, or any of the countless other distinctions we so often use to separate us from those around us, and simply offers a warm and genuine welcome to the "stranger" in their midst, you are seeing God. When you witness love in action in any of the myriad of forms it can take in this world, you have the opportunity to witness the presence of God.

When love becomes the mark by which we recognize God's presence, then it not only becomes possible to experience God countless times each day, but it also becomes possible to actually participate in making God's presence manifest in the world. Whenever we reach out beyond ourselves in love, God's light shines. The more we open ourselves to the possibility of love in this world, the more we actually embody that divine love in our own lives and our own living. "Everyone who loves is born of God and knows God." (1 John 4:7) Where can we see God? Look for the love!Where do we find God? How do we "see" God? In John's Gospel the lines begin to blur and the distinctions fall away. Who God is blends into who Jesus is, Jesus blends into who the Holy Spirit is, and ultimately the whole sacred package blends into who we are. In our reading for this morning we find Jesus saying, "I am in God, and you in me, and I in you." (John 14:20) How do we "see" God? Just look around! God is everywhere, if we have eyes to see.]]> Sermons http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=217 Sun, 27 Apr 2008 11:00:00 -0700 http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=216 John 14: 6-14 & 1 Peter 2: 4-10
Roger C. Lynn
April 20, 2008

"I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to God except through me." (John 14:6) At first glance this seems both clear and powerful - a path to God. And then upon closer examination questions begin to surface - concerns start to cloud the matter. What does it mean to say that "no one comes to God except through me"? This particular passage in John's Gospel has been weighed down with centuries of interpretive baggage which seems to make "I believe in Jesus" the only acceptable password that will get us past the front gates of heaven. But I'm convinced that it does not have to mean this at all. To begin with, it's important to remember that all of the Gospels, and particularly John, are really theological rather than biographical in nature. This means that John is using the story of Jesus to present an understanding of who God is and what it means to be in relationship with God. Thus "I am the way..." is about the path to God which is represented by the whole of Jesus' life and teaching. It's about loving enemies, washing feet, accepting the outcasts, and all the other qualities we see revealed in the picture of Jesus which John paints for us. That is how we come to know God, John is telling us. And what happens when we come to know God in this way is that we begin to take on those qualities in our own living. "Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do..." (John 14:12) Even the part about asking for things "in my name" isn't about using the name "Jesus" as a kind of magical incantation that will insure our prayers get answered. In the ancient world names were understood to represent the essence of something - the true character of that which is named. So to pray "in Jesus' name" is to pray with the same character, the same quality of living, which we find revealed in Jesus. In short, we are called to follow the path of faith to which Jesus points us with the whole of his life. It is no accident that from the earliest days of the Church the community of those who are seeking to follow this new way of life are referred to as "the body of Christ." We are literally called to be Christ in the world.

Admittedly that seems like a rather tall order. OK, "completely out of reach" might be a more accurate way of putting it. And that would be true if we had to do it on our own and by ourselves. But we're not. Such a vision can only be transformed into reality when we remember that we are, in fact, not on our own and we are not by ourselves. God is with us and we are with each other. The writer of 1st Peter put it this way, "...and like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood..." (1 Peter 2:5) By ourselves we are just one rock, sitting in the dirt. But in the hands of the Master Builder, in the company of other rocks, we become something far greater than the sum of the parts - we become a force in the world for sharing the transforming Good News that God is with us right here and right now, working to restore us to full, rich, abundant life. When we allow ourselves to be shaped by the creative working of God's Spirit among us we find meaning and purpose and direction. Again in the words of 1st Peter, "...you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God's own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of the One who called you out of darkness into God's marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people..." (1 Peter 2:9-10) We are blessed so that we might become a blessing. We are called so that we might participate in the calling. By our living we can make a difference in the world. When we follow the path of Christ, loving those around us, welcoming the stranger, letting go of hate, opening ourselves to the God who is present in everyone we meet, then we become a house of living stone - a shelter where people can find peace and safety, and experience life with God.

It isn't about conformity. It isn't about sameness. It is about allowing our unique gifts to be brought together into the one house of living stone. We have recently been watching old episodes of "Northern Exposure" - the TV show from the 80s that was set in the fictional town of Cicely, Alaska. In the episode we watched the other night Dr. Fleishman's beloved uncle died down in Florida. Joel promised his aunt that he would say the Kaddish, the Jewish prayer for the dead. According to tradition, this prayer requires the presence of ten Jewish men. And so the whole town sets out to help find nine more Jews so that Joel can say the prayer. This being Alaska the search spreads out over a lot of territory, but slowly they begin to have success - an engineer from the pipeline, an out of work lumberjack, even a native Alaskan who converted. But then Joel comes to realize that it isn't what he wants. He doesn't really know any of these people. The original point of the requirement was so that a person in grief would have the support of his community. He didn't have a connection with any of these people. The thought of saying a deeply personal prayer for his beloved uncle in front of strangers left him feeling empty. In the end he gathers in the local church with residents of the town - his community. It didn't matter to him that they weren't Jewish. What mattered was that they were there with him and for him. He stands in front and invites them to pray in their own ways, perhaps remembering someone they love and care about, while he recites the Kaddish in Hebrew. What followed brought tears to my eyes. Shelly expressed her Catholic upbringing by crossing herself. Ruthanne held hands with the people next to her. Chris and Bernard stood up out of respect. Maurice folded his hands and bowed his head. Someone raised their hands. A native woman in the back moved her hands in circles in the tradition of her people. Another woman could be seen mouthing the words to some traditional prayer. None of them prayed in the same way. And all of them were there together - a house of living stone, God's own people.

Back to John's Gospel. "No one comes to God except through me." If we are called to be "the body of Christ" then this statement becomes a powerful and exciting challenge for us. What might it mean if we understood this passage to be speaking directly to each of us, and all of us together? God is always and forever seeking to restore the world to wholeness, and we can be a part of that process. It won't happen by being the same. It will happen when we dare to share the unique gift of ourselves as together we live into our common heritage as God's own people. How can we, with our words and our actions and our living, proclaim to the world that everyone is included in God's all-inclusive house of living stone? Let the construction begin."I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to God except through me." (John 14:6) At first glance this seems both clear and powerful - a path to God. And then upon closer examination questions begin to surface - concerns start to cloud the matter. What does it mean to say that "no one comes to God except through me"? This particular passage in John's Gospel has been weighed down with centuries of interpretive baggage which seems to make "I believe in Jesus" the only acceptable password that will get us past the front gates of heaven. But I'm convinced that it does not have to mean this at all. To begin with, it's important to remember that all of the Gospels, and particularly John, are really theological rather than biographical in nature. This means that John is using the story of Jesus to present an understanding of who God is and what it means to be in relationship with God. Thus "I am the way..." is about the path to God which is represented by the whole of Jesus' life and teaching. It's about loving enemies, washing feet, accepting the outcasts, and all the other qualities we see revealed in the picture of Jesus which John paints for us. That is how we come to know God, John is telling us. And what happens when we come to know God in this way is that we begin to take on those qualities in our own living. "Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do..." (John 14:12) Even the part about asking for things "in my name" isn't about using the name "Jesus" as a kind of magical incantation that will insure our prayers get answered. In the ancient world names were understood to represent the essence of something - the true character of that which is named. So to pray "in Jesus' name" is to pray with the same character, the same quality of living, which we find revealed in Jesus. In short, we are called to follow the path of faith to which Jesus points us with the whole of his life. It is no accident that from the earliest days of the Church the community of those who are seeking to follow this new way of life are referred to as "the body of Christ." We are literally called to be Christ in the world.]]> Sermons http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=216 Sun, 20 Apr 2008 11:00:00 -0700 http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=215 Psalm 23 & Acts 2: 42-47
Roger C. Lynn
March 13, 2008

Seeking a life filled with God! I believe that in one way or another, whether we recognize it or not, we are all searching for such a life. When we are in touch with the reality of God's presence in our world and in our lives there is a sense of wholeness, because we are living in the fullness of what is most real. When we are not in touch with this reality there is a sense of longing, or emptiness, because our present awareness is out of sync with the deeper, fuller, richer truth which resonates with the core of who we are. And so we come to church - we pray - we read spiritual reflections - we meditate - we engage in a variety of spiritual practices - we go on sacred pilgrimages. Or we don't. And I am convinced that the shape of our experience in this life reflects the path we choose. Please do not hear me saying that bad things will happen if you don't pray, or that life will be nothing but sweetness and light if you go to church. I'm not talking about what happens to us in this life. I'm talking about how we experience what happens to us, and what we do with that experience.

The psalmist writes "The Lord is my shepherd - I shall not want." (Psalm 23:1) Such a statement reflects a basic orientation towards life. A few sentences later we read "Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me!" (Psalm 23:4) There will be dark valleys. If you spend any time at all in this life you will find yourself in a dark valley at one time or another. Being aware of God's presence doesn't change that. But it does change how we experience such dark times. "I fear no evil." Imagine for a moment how much would change in this world if we could let go of our fear. So many of the truly heartbreaking things going on around us have their roots firmly planted in fear. And it doesn't have to be that way. The more we can learn to dwell in the presence of God the more we will discover that our experience of life is shaped by comfort, and compassion, and abundance.

And the more we allow our own lives to be shaped by such an orientation, the more we will find ourselves drawn to a way of life in which we want to share such qualities with the rest of humanity, and indeed, with the rest of creation. The people in the early days of the Church found themselves living a life filled with God. Their experience of the presence of the sacred was so powerful and so all-encompassing that even common, ordinary events like a meal became occasions for an awareness of God. "Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts . . ." (Acts 2:46) And such a life cannot be contained. It simply is not possible to live only for one's self. "All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need." (Acts 2:44-45) When life is experienced through the filter of God's presence, the results are expansive and inclusive and compassionate.

So what might such a life look like for us today? What does it mean for us to live a life filled with God? How do we reach out beyond ourselves and embrace those with whom we share life on this planet? What changes when we let go of fear and live into love, empowered by the very spirit of God? In some ways each of us must find our own path. What I am called to do may not be what you are called to do. Your gifts are not my gifts. We can each begin by looking at the needs around us and thinking boldly and creatively about ways in which our gifts and our passions might be brought to bear in such a way as to make an impact. It must also be said, however, that we can no longer afford to think and act only in isolation. We are connected to each other and our living must reflect the reality of that connection in order to fully effect the healing of the world. My gifts are different from your gifts, and when we join those gifts together they become a force for change that is far greater than the sum of the parts.

We see this reality lived out in the offerings we give. The Fellowship Fund allows this congregation to collectively reach out and touch people's lives in remarkable ways. Next week we will receive a special offering for Week of Compassion / One Great Hour of Sharing, and in that act we will be reaching around the world to touch the lives of countless people when they are most vulnerable. We see this reality lived out in the work of Habitat for Humanity. Houses get built for people who never thought they would live in their own home. I once participated with 1,000 youth and adults at a church event in Texas where together we built a house in less than a week. At the closing worship service we handed the keys to the new owner - a disabled grandmother who was raising several of her grandchildren. We see this reality live out when people join their voices together to speak out for peace and justice. Wars have been stopped when people have allowed God's spirit to bring them together and unite their voices in a compelling call for peace.

When we open ourselves to the reality of God in our lives and in our world we open ourselves to love and compassion, peace and justice, harmony and unity, abundance and equality. And when we open ourselves to such qualities we will be changed. When we open ourselves to such qualities the world will be changed. "Fear not" the angels say! How will living with God shape your life and change the world?Seeking a life filled with God! I believe that in one way or another, whether we recognize it or not, we are all searching for such a life. When we are in touch with the reality of God's presence in our world and in our lives there is a sense of wholeness, because we are living in the fullness of what is most real. When we are not in touch with this reality there is a sense of longing, or emptiness, because our present awareness is out of sync with the deeper, fuller, richer truth which resonates with the core of who we are. And so we come to church - we pray - we read spiritual reflections - we meditate - we engage in a variety of spiritual practices - we go on sacred pilgrimages. Or we don't. And I am convinced that the shape of our experience in this life reflects the path we choose. Please do not hear me saying that bad things will happen if you don't pray, or that life will be nothing but sweetness and light if you go to church. I'm not talking about what happens to us in this life. I'm talking about how we experience what happens to us, and what we do with that experience.]]> Sermons http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=215 Sun, 13 Apr 2008 11:00:00 -0700 http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=214 Genesis 12: 1-2 & Matthew 4: 1-11
Roger C. Lynn
April 6, 2008

Upon hearing the news about my resignation, the most common first question has been "Why?" And the short answer is, "because I have a sense of being called to move on." The not-so-short answer is far more complex and nuanced, ambiguous and hard to explain. If this were a Methodist congregation and I were a Methodist pastor, the answer might be relatively straightforward - because the Bishop told me it was time to move. But we are not a part of that system and so answering the "why" question is more challenging. I would like to try answering at least some of that question by sharing with you some of the process which led us to this point, and some of what making this choice means to us. I want to share this in the hope that in our experience you might see something of your own experiences of seeking to make faithful choices for your living.

Faithful - foolish. Trusting - gullible. Vision - delusion. Risk - dangerous. Which description fits? It's always a fine line we walk when we seek to live faithfully, and perception is everything. Looking from the outside in, it is often impossible to gain a clear sense of whether the choice of a particular path is faithful or just plain crazy. What we see with our eyes and what we perceive with our hearts can be very different, and will sometimes lead us in very different directions. The path down which our hearts lead us is not always going to appear safe, or sensible, or even sane, when viewed from the perspective of rational, cultural expectations. I suspect that there were those who thought Abraham and Sarah were not behaving sensibly when they set off from Haran in search of some vaguely defined "promised land" to which God was somehow calling them. And when Jesus responded to the prompting of the Spirit to go spend some time in the wilderness - that dangerous place where normal, sane people simply did not go - there were probably people who thought he had taken leave of his senses. The simple truth is that seeking to follow God's leading will not always make sense when viewed from the outside looking in. Indeed, there are times when it barely makes any sense even when you are the one doing the following. It is worth noting that the temptations Jesus experiences in the wilderness all center around issues of safety, security and control.

Any serious practice of prayer and discernment really ought to come with a warning label - "Warning: engaging in this practice may result in a life that will completely surprise you." The story is told of a man who stepped off the edge of a cliff and managed to grab hold of a branch part way down. He couldn't climb up and he couldn't climb down. So he prayed. "God, I'm in trouble here. I could use some guidance." And then, much to his surprise, God answered his prayer. "I see you are in a challenging predicament. Don't be afraid. I'm here to help." "Oh, thank you God! What do I need to do next?" "Let go!" The man thought about this for a moment and then said, "Is there someone else I can talk to?"

When it first came to me that I might be led to resign before I knew what came next I did my best to ignore it, dismiss it, argue against it. And I also recognized a certain compelling quality in the idea which seemed to resonate with me. After all, have I not spent my whole ministry preaching about stepping out on faith and trusting and risking and letting go of fear?

But I get ahead of myself. This decision did not happen overnight. It is not something Veronica and I have come to lightly, casually, easily or quickly. A great deal of time and energy have been spent in prayer, reflection, meditation, discernment and conversation. I've walked the labyrinth seeking God's guidance. We have sought out the counsel and support of friends and spiritual guides. We've engaged in forty days of prayer together. In many and various ways we've listened intently for the leading of God's Spirit. And slowly, sometimes painfully slowly, but surely, the guidance has come.

The quest began when I became aware of a vague sense of being unsettled. Something needed my attention, but I wasn't sure what it was. Eventually I came to realize that I'm tired. I need rest and rejuvenation for my soul. But there was more. I've been growing and changing. I find myself longing for new and different challenges in ministry, including creative colleague partners with whom to collaborate. Something new is calling me from just over the horizon. That much of the picture has been clear. What that something new looks like has remained persistently unclear. And so we continued to watch and wait and listen and pray. When is it time to stay and when is it time to move? How will we know?

Whenever we begin to feel overwhelmed and afraid, we hear part of an answer in the words of the Sufi poet Rumi, who wrote, "Move within, but do not move the way fear makes you move." Another piece of the picture came just a bit more into focus with a quote we can no longer even identify - "Step onto the path and the path will appear." I heard yet another piece of an answer in the famous quote from Helen Keller - "Life is a daring adventure, or nothing at all." And then, two days ago, on Friday night, after this sermon was finished (or so I thought), I went to a concert by singer/songwriter Libby Roderick, and heard the rest of the Helen Keller quote. "Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. The fearful are caught as often as the bold. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing." And after sharing that quote, Libby sang a song which included these words -
"I'd rather be dancing at the edge of my grave.
I'd rather be holding you close as we march forward loving and brave.
I'd rather be singing in the face of my fear.
I'd rather be dancing in front of the guns as long as I'm here.
Life is so dangerous that there's little to fear
Life is so possible, every breath a frontier."
And as she sang, and I sang along, I heard another whisper of an answer. Part of the answer drifts across the years as I find myself drawn in a new way to the power of a scene from an old Indiana Jones movie which I have always, in some way, known was speaking to me. Jones has been following notes left by his father in a quest to find the Holy Grail. They lead him finally to the edge of a chasm, where the last remaining clue simply indicates that a leap of faith is required. And so he gathers up his courage, takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and steps off the edge - where he finds a bridge which is hidden from view until you actually take that first step. Reading a book just a few days ago a phrase jumped out at us which seems to give shape to this whole adventure - "throwing caution to the wind." Wind - breath - Ruach - Spirit. We are always and forever being invited to throw our caution, our fear, our worry, to the wind of God's Spirit, and then allow the wind to carry them away - leaving us free to respond to God's call in fresh new ways. We hear a hint of an answer in the lyrics of a song written by our friend Amy Martin in which she uses ravens as a metaphor for faithful living. "It's feathers and faith meeting the grace of the invisible air. They just fling themselves wide open and jump into the sky. It's a radical trust that gives us the freedom to fly." Indeed, once we started looking, the themes of trust, faith, stepping out beyond the border of comfort, risk, "be not afraid" all seem to emerge from every direction and from a wide variety of sources. I begin to suspect a spiritual conspiracy of sorts.

Can I be absolutely certain that what we are hearing is the voice of God? Of course not. Am I confident that we have listened as carefully as we can, and are making the most faithful decision we know how to make in this moment? Absolutely. I am convinced that it is time to let go of what is in order to make room for what will be. It is time to step off the edge and try our wings. It is time to fly. And whatever comes next, I am absolutely certain of at least one thing. The God who has been with all of us this far will continue to be with all of us, come what may. "Be not afraid," the angels say. Will you join us in choosing to trust in God's abundant and gracious guidance? It's time to fly!Upon hearing the news about my resignation, the most common first question has been "Why?" And the short answer is, "because I have a sense of being called to move on." The not-so-short answer is far more complex and nuanced, ambiguous and hard to explain. If this were a Methodist congregation and I were a Methodist pastor, the answer might be relatively straightforward - because the Bishop told me it was time to move. But we are not a part of that system and so answering the "why" question is more challenging. I would like to try answering at least some of that question by sharing with you some of the process which led us to this point, and some of what making this choice means to us. I want to share this in the hope that in our experience you might see something of your own experiences of seeking to make faithful choices for your living.]]> Sermons http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=214 Sun, 6 Apr 2008 11:00:00 -0700 http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=213 Jeremiah 31: 1-6 & John 20: 1-18
Roger C. Lynn
March 23, 2008
Easter Sunday

Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed! It is the proclamation of Easter. It is a central proclamation of the Church. For literally millions of people it is an important expression of what they believe. It has the potential to capture our imagination and shine a light of hope into the dark and gloom of a frightening world. It can serve us well.

It can serve us well - if we will remember that such proclamations seek to describe an experience. They are not the experience itself. In many ways our culture has left us rather poorly equipped to really experience faith and give expression to it, because we have lost an appreciation of poetry and metaphor. In this scientific age in which we live, something is perceived to be true if it can be proven by verifiable means. And if not, then it isn't true, and thus isn't worthy of our attention. I know that is a overly simplistic picture. And at some level it is how we operate. There are so many debates which seem to be couched in black and white, either/or terms. Evolution versus creation. Faith versus reason. Science versus religion. We lose so much of the subtle, nuanced flavor of life and faith when we seek to approach things in such a manner. Even those of us who spend our time at the more progressive end of the theological spectrum can easily fall victim to such thinking. We just tend to do it in less obvious ways. We get stuck in unhelpful arguments that lead us away from life instead of towards it.

Christ is risen! What does that mean? Why does it matter? Is there more than one way to understand such statements? As I thought about all of this, one of my new favorite phrases came to mind. Marcus Borg tells about a Native American storyteller who always begins his stories by saying, "Now, I'm not sure if it happened exactly this way. But I'm absolutely certain it's true." That's how I feel about the Easter story. As far as the details of what took place on that first Easter morning, I am not at all prepared to say what actually occurred. Each of our four Gospels offers a different version of the story. And yet, what I do know with a kind of certainty which has nothing to do with scientific proof is that something extraordinary and life-altering lies behind the stories. I know this because I have experienced it for myself.

Those first followers of Jesus caught a glimpse of the truth he had shared with them - God's reign begins right here, right now, in the very midst of this life, and each of us is called to participate in that abundant reign of love and grace, peace and wholeness. Most of the time they didn't really understand it, but there were at least moments when the veil had been pulled back just enough to reveal a different reality. And then it all came crashing down around them. In the face of this amazing new way of approaching life, the status quo won. This one whom they had followed and come to trust and believe in had been silenced. How was it possible to reconcile Jesus' message of hope and promise of new life with the reality of his death? It should have been over - just one more wonderful dream shattered by the cold, hard light of reality. Except that it wasn't over. Remarkably, against all odds, against all expectations, the new life they had experienced as they followed Jesus was still there. Everything he was, everything he shared with them, everything they had come to understand through him continued to be true, continued to be real. The Romans couldn't stop it. The religious authorities couldn't stop it. Death couldn't stop it. New life was pulsing through them, shaping their very experience of the world around them.

But how do you talk about that? How do you share that amazing good news? How do you make sense of such an experience, for yourself, to say nothing of anyone else? Language is so limited. We're pretty good at talking about what we see with our eyes, hear with our ears, experience with our senses. But words quickly fall far short of the goal when we try to capture such profound, life-giving experiences of our souls. Everyday speech is simply not up to the task of conveying matters of the spirit. And thus it is that we turn to the language of metaphor, poetry, story. Not to capture the experience. After all, how can you capture the wind? No, we turn to such language in order to offer tantalizing glimpses, enigmatic hints, awe-inspired invitations to simply enter into the mystery, the inexpressible joy, of God's abundant new life which flows around us like the waters of the ocean.

Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed! The angels proclaim it. The pilgrims shout it out. Even the skeptics pause to wonder. May we remember to look beyond the words as we remember the experience which lies behind them - abundant new life, in this and every moment, direct from the heart of God. Amen.Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed! It is the proclamation of Easter. It is a central proclamation of the Church. For literally millions of people it is an important expression of what they believe. It has the potential to capture our imagination and shine a light of hope into the dark and gloom of a frightening world. It can serve us well.

It can serve us well - if we will remember that such proclamations seek to describe an experience. They are not the experience itself. In many ways our culture has left us rather poorly equipped to really experience faith and give expression to it, because we have lost an appreciation of poetry and metaphor. In this scientific age in which we live, something is perceived to be true if it can be proven by verifiable means. And if not, then it isn't true, and thus isn't worthy of our attention. I know that is a overly simplistic picture. And at some level it is how we operate. There are so many debates which seem to be couched in black and white, either/or terms. Evolution versus creation. Faith versus reason. Science versus religion. We lose so much of the subtle, nuanced flavor of life and faith when we seek to approach things in such a manner. Even those of us who spend our time at the more progressive end of the theological spectrum can easily fall victim to such thinking. We just tend to do it in less obvious ways. We get stuck in unhelpful arguments that lead us away from life instead of towards it.]]> Sermons http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=213 Sun, 23 Mar 2008 11:00:00 -0700 http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=212 Psalm 31: 9-16 & Philippians 2: 5-11
Roger C. Lynn
March 16, 2008
Palm / Passion Sunday

What does it mean to follow Christ? In his letter to the church at Philippi, Paul urges that group of Christians to "let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 2:5) Paul then goes on to quote an early Christian hymn in which "the mind of Christ" is understood in terms of humility, trust in God's guidance, and an attitude of service. On the night when he was arrested, Jesus prays, "Not my will, but thine be done." This represents not a denial of self, but rather an orientation of self towards God. Indeed, when we look at the whole of Jesus' life, what we find is a sense that we are most fully alive, most fully ourselves, when we seek to align our lives with the presence of God. To follow Christ's way is to let go of the illusion that we are, or can be, self-sufficient. Jesus' life illustrates the paradox that we experience the most fullness when we empty ourselves into God.

When life is going well for us, this either never comes up or else seems remarkably easy. We can simply take for granted that God is love and God is present. We go with the flow and mostly just go about our business. But what happens when life is not going well, when the bottom drops out of our sense of comfort and security? That's when this business of faithful living gets put to the test. That is when we can find hope and inspiration in paying attention to the path which Jesus followed in his final days. Faced with open hostility, betrayal, and even physical violence, he manages to remain focused on the larger truth that God's love and presence continues to shine through even such darkness. Psalm 31 gives voice to this kind of faithful living. I can well imagine Jesus praying this psalm in his final hours. "Be gracious to me, O God, for I am in distress; my eye wastes away from grief, my soul and body also." (Psalm 31:1) For several more verses this psalm paints a dramatic picture of grief and devastation. But it is more than simply a litany of woes. In the very midst of the anguish of a life gone seriously off-track, we find the psalmist turning to God. "But I trust in you, O God; I say, 'You are my God.' My times are in your hand..." (Psalm 31:14-15) Yes, there are hard times and devastating experiences. And, in the words of Paul's letter to the Church in Rome, "Nothing can separate us from the love of God." (Romans 8:39)

This is the path of Christ. This is what it means to have "the mind of Christ." Being a Christian - being a person of faith - does not provide us with immunity to suffering. That is simply part of what it means to be human. But following Christ's way puts us in touch with the rest of what it means to be human - that we have direct access to the presence of God, which is our ultimate source of strength and meaning, comfort and courage. This path of faith often leads us into some challenging places because in God we are invited to face all of life unflinchingly. The message of Holy Week, as we reflect on the life of Jesus in his final days, is that there is nothing the world can throw at us which will overwhelm God. And since all of us, all of the time, are fully embraced in the presence of God, there is nothing which can ultimately overwhelm us. May we walk the path of remembering to live in this reality.What does it mean to follow Christ? In his letter to the church at Philippi, Paul urges that group of Christians to "let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 2:5) Paul then goes on to quote an early Christian hymn in which "the mind of Christ" is understood in terms of humility, trust in God's guidance, and an attitude of service. On the night when he was arrested, Jesus prays, "Not my will, but thine be done." This represents not a denial of self, but rather an orientation of self towards God. Indeed, when we look at the whole of Jesus' life, what we find is a sense that we are most fully alive, most fully ourselves, when we seek to align our lives with the presence of God. To follow Christ's way is to let go of the illusion that we are, or can be, self-sufficient. Jesus' life illustrates the paradox that we experience the most fullness when we empty ourselves into God.]]> Sermons http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=212 Sun, 16 Mar 2008 11:00:00 -0700 http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=211 John 11: 32-44 & Ezekiel 37: 1-14
Roger C. Lynn
March 9, 2008
5th Sunday in Lent

Here we are again - right in the middle of the wilderness, which has been a recurring theme in this season of Lent. This time it takes the form of a vision. Ezekiel finds himself in a desolate valley filled with bones. And not just any bones - these are dried up and scattered. In describing his vision, Ezekiel uses dramatic language to make sure we get the point that these are really dead. Not "just stopped breathing 30 seconds ago but a little CPR will take care of things" dead, but dead "beyond any hope of recovery" dead. God asks Ezekiel if the bones can live again, to which Ezekiel replies, "Oh Lord, you know." In other words, "it sure doesn't look like it to me." The story of the raising of Lazarus in John's Gospel is really a variation on this same theme. The story-teller makes sure we know that Lazarus is beyond hope of reviving. "There is a stench," is how Martha described the situation. "He's been dead four days. You might have been able to do something then, but now it is too late." There is a hopelessness being addressed in both of these stories - death not just of the body but of the spirit as well. And that, finally, is what these stories are all about - the debilitating paralysis which comes when we lose hope, when we forget to remember God's presence. And so we come at last to this final wilderness - the wilderness of death.

This is about more than merely our physical demise. There are layers of meaning here. Most of us know from personal experience that death does not have to wait until we stop breathing. Whether it is the death of a relationship, the death of a dream, or the death of our enthusiasm for living, there is more than enough death to go around. Ezekiel's valley of dry bones has remained a powerful story for all these thousands of years precisely because it provides such an apt description of what life feels like sometimes. All too often despair seems to reign supreme in our world. Our bones are very dry. There is no life in evidence.

But wait! There's more to the story than that. If this were only about a valley of dry bones - if this were only about a beloved family member or friend who has died - if hopelessness holds the final word - then there really is no point. I'll stop talking now and we can all drift quietly back into our own private realms of despair. But it doesn't stop there. There is more. "Prophesy!" says God to Ezekiel. Speak a word of Light into the midst of this darkness. Speak of word of Life into the midst of all this death. There is more here than meets the eye. God is here. And where God is present, even death cannot hold sway.

Singer/songwriter David Wilcox put it this way in his song "Show the Way":
You say you see no hope,
you say you see no reason we should dream
that the world would ever change
You're saying love is foolish to believe
'Cause there'll always be some crazy
with an army or a knife
To wake you from your daydream,
put the fear back in your life...
Look, if someone wrote a play
just to glorify what's stronger than hate,
would they not arrange the stage
To look as if the hero came too late
he's almost in defeat
It's looking like the Evil side will win,
so on the edge of every seat,
from the moment that the whole thing begins
It is...

(Chorus)
Love who mixed the mortar
And it's love who stacked these stones
And it's love who made the stage here
Although it looks like we're alone
In this scene set in shadows
Like the night is here to stay
There is evil cast around us
But it's love that wrote the play...
For in this darkness love can show the way

So now the stage is set.
Feel you own heart beating in your chest.
This life's not over yet,
so we get up on our feet and do our best.
We play against the fear.
We play against the reasons not to try.
We're playing for the tears
burning in the happy angel's eyes
For it's...
(Chorus)

We lose heart. We get overwhelmed by grief and pain, and we are more than ready to simply give up. We get so caught up with all of the truly heartbreaking reality around us that we lose sight of what is true even in the midst of the despair. God is here. Life is here. We are not alone. We have not been abandoned. And remembering makes all the difference. It doesn't stop the hurt. Even Jesus cried at the death of his friend. But remembering that death does not hold the final word transforms the wilderness of death into an oasis of new possibilities. Even here - especially here - God meets us.

We live in a world that is filled with death - both literally and metaphorically. There is despair just waiting for us around every corner. And we can play a part is changing all of that. We can choose to participate in life instead of death. Prophesy to the bones, God tells Ezekiel. Unbind him and let him go, Jesus tells the friends of Lazarus. Proclaim the truth which is more powerful even than death, the truth that the God of Life is here, now, in the very midst of our despair. Prophesy to the wind! Call God's holy Ruach to blow through us and restore us. Proclaim with the powerful witness of our living that we choose to serve as agents of Love and Light even in the face of darkness, death and despair. God is on the side of life and life will prevail. Here we are again - right in the middle of the wilderness, which has been a recurring theme in this season of Lent. This time it takes the form of a vision. Ezekiel finds himself in a desolate valley filled with bones. And not just any bones - these are dried up and scattered. In describing his vision, Ezekiel uses dramatic language to make sure we get the point that these are really dead. Not "just stopped breathing 30 seconds ago but a little CPR will take care of things" dead, but dead "beyond any hope of recovery" dead. God asks Ezekiel if the bones can live again, to which Ezekiel replies, "Oh Lord, you know." In other words, "it sure doesn't look like it to me." The story of the raising of Lazarus in John's Gospel is really a variation on this same theme. The story-teller makes sure we know that Lazarus is beyond hope of reviving. "There is a stench," is how Martha described the situation. "He's been dead four days. You might have been able to do something then, but now it is too late." There is a hopelessness being addressed in both of these stories - death not just of the body but of the spirit as well. And that, finally, is what these stories are all about - the debilitating paralysis which comes when we lose hope, when we forget to remember God's presence. And so we come at last to this final wilderness - the wilderness of death.]]> Sermons http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=211 Sun, 9 Mar 2008 11:00:00 -0700 http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=210 Isaiah 6: 1-8
Roger C. Lynn
March 2, 2008
Ordination Sermon for Greg Skinner

I've preached lots of sermons from this pulpit - more than 500 of them so far. It is said that the writing and preaching of every sermon should be approached with a certain amount of awe and respect. Well, if that is true for the average "Sunday morning in the middle of the year when nothing in particular is going on" sort of sermon, it is even more true for this sermon. To begin with, it occurs within the context of an ordination. Such events are not everyday occurrences in the life of the Church. I suspect that for many of you in this room today this is your first ordination. The opportunity to preach on such an occasion does not come to every minister, and when it does it seldom comes more than once (unless you happen to be a seminary professor or Regional Minister). I count myself truly blessed because this is my second opportunity for such an honor, having also preached at my brother's ordination many years ago. So to stand here now, at this incredibly important moment in the life of one of my closest friends significantly increases the "seriousness factor." And finally, as if that weren't enough, the very nature of this event means the sermon's "target audience" is somewhat more scattered than usual. On the one hand, it is aimed at one individual, in the person of Gregory Paul Skinner. On the other hand, it is directed to those of you here in this place who have gathered to celebrate with Greg and the Church on this significant occasion. I'm now out of hands, but there is yet one more group to whom this sermon is directed. Because Greg is being ordained into the order of Christian Ministry, the whole Church needs to be in on the act. So I'm also preaching to people who aren't even here (which is frequently the case, but usually not on this kind of scale). Taking all of those factors into consideration, will you join me in prayer?

Gracious God, this is an important moment in the life of your Church. This is an important moment in our lives. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts together in this place be acceptable in your sight, O God, our strength and our Redeemer. Amen.

We are gathered here today to affirm a call from God and bear witness to the YES of an individual and the YES of the Church. In one sense it is the same call which comes to each of us - the call to be ministers in the name of Jesus Christ. On the back of our bulletins in this congregation every Sunday there is a line which reads, "Ministers: Every Member." But in another sense it is a very particular call to a particular individual to serve the Church in a particular way. The Church is saying in this service today that we also recognize and acknowledge this call in Greg's life. By our presence in this service of worship and by the actions we take here today we are ordaining Greg to a special kind of ministry in our midst.

It is a ministry which is about the business of being. Who Greg is among us will finally be far more important than any of the specific tasks he performs. By ordaining him, we do not set him apart - to be separate from us, or lift him onto a pedestal - to reign over us. We are not saying that his ministry is more valid, or more important, or more holy than the ministry to which each of us is called. What we are saying is that in responding to God's call, each of us needs help in being who we are called to be. Sometimes we need help just hearing the call and discerning the direction in which we are being pointed. Greg is called to be in the midst of us, living out what it means to respond to God's call and helping us to do the same.

I would lift up for your consideration three images of the ministry to which we ordain Greg today. They are powerful images. I invite each of us to take them very seriously, allowing them to shape our common ministry together as they give direction to the ways in which we respond to and relate with the ordained clergy among us. To you, Greg, I would say that if preaching this sermon left me with some fear and trembling, then seeking to live out these images of ministry ought to leave you shaking in your boots. Indeed, if you were seeking to live them out by sheer determination and will power I would lovingly invite you to get out while you still can. But I know and you know that none of us are alone on this journey. The One who calls us is the same One who remains with us, granting us vision and strength and courage to be who we are called to be. Together may we walk in faith and confidence and joy.

The ministry to which Greg is being called can be described as sacramental. Frederick Buechner says a sacrament "is when something holy happens. It is transparent time, time which you can see through to something deep inside time...If we weren't blind as bats, we might see that life itself is sacramental." (Wishful Thinking, p. 82 & 83) Life itself is sacramental, but most of the time we are blind as bats. To engage in sacramental ministry is to remind us of that which is always true. It offers us a window through which we catch glimpses of God's presence in the world.

Ministry is sacramental in a variety of ways. In sometimes large and dramatic ways, we experience it in preaching and other forms of proclamation. In as much as such proclamation is prophetic, speaking on behalf of God, then such proclamation is also sacramental. That means such a ministry will not always be comfortable, for Greg or for us. Sometimes it will call us beyond where we are to where we would rather not go. At other times, we experience such ministry in smaller, quieter, but no less powerful ways. When Greg visits a sick or dying person in the hospital, he brings with him not only his own presence, but also the very presence of God. Each of us might experience such sacramental glimpses at odd and unexpected moments - in conversation, when something about the fervor in Greg's voice as he talks with passion about some issue reminds us of another presence - in the quiet joy we see expressed on Greg's face as he experiences the wonder which lies all around us - in countless other ways when we are reminded by Greg's ministry among us that life itself is indeed sacramental, if only we will open our eyes and see.

Another image which can be applied to this ministry is covenant. This image is particularly applicable for those of us who are engaged in ministry within the context of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). Covenant has been and remains a rather central word for us. It is used to describe the manner in which the Church is held together and the various parts of the church relate to one another. We speak of the general, regional and congregational manifestations of the Church being in covenantal relationship with each other, sharing their various gifts and strengths out of a sense of common connectedness rather than any mandatory obligation. Such covenantal relatedness is also present within the Church between the laity and the clergy. If there is any validity to the idea of the authority of the clergy, then it is at the covenantal level where such authority exists - not an authority based in power over, but rather an authority based in partnership with. Greg is being ordained into a ministry in which we will ask him to serve in various capacities of leadership among us. His ministry will be covenantal to the degree that we recognize his gifts among us and he recognizes ours.

Finally, I would describe this ministry as representational. This is a multi-layered image which shares various aspects with the other two images already put forth. On one level, it is representational because we will call upon Greg to minister on our behalf. Greg will, quite literally, represent the Church in the tasks set before him. I spoke about a hospital visit being sacramental, whereby he brings God's presence with him into the room. In very similar fashion, that same visit is also representational, whereby he brings the Church's presence with him into the room. Such responsibility is at once both awesome and overwhelming, but because it takes place within the context of covenantal ministry it brings with it an amazing sense of strength with which to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

This ministry is also representational in another way as well. Way back in 1985 the Commission on Theology for The Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) offered a report which they titled "A Word To The Church On Ministry" in which they describe it this way:

By ordaining people to particular ministries, the church designates them to re-present to the church its own identity and calling in Jesus Christ. . .To say that ordained ministries are re-presentative does not mean that the ordained take on personal or official status superior to that of the non-ordained. There are no differences of status or worth between lay persons and ordained persons, for in their diversity these different ministries are mutually dependent, mutually complimentary, and mutually enriching. Neither does it mean that they undertake ministries so that those who are not ordained may be relieved of their own ministerial responsibilities. Rather, they are ordained to re-present (i.e., to present again, to show forth) to the whole people the ministry it has received in Christ Jesus. In this way those ordained carry a special ministry, which is not different in kind, but distinctive in focus in equipping, nurturing, guiding, and setting before the church the ministry shared by all." (The Nature Of The Church: Ministry Among Disciples - Past, Present and Future, pp. 47-48)

Thus, we gather today to ordain Greg into a ministry which is sacramental, covenantal and representational. And we send him forth with our most fervent love and prayers to serve among us. The question which remains is, how will we respond to this ministry? How will respond to this minister? The question is not, what words will we use? The question is, how will we live? And the answer must always be that we will live together. We as the Church must live with Greg and allow Greg to live with us. We must share with each other the fullness of our joys, our sorrows, our humanness. In another ordination sermon, Carter Heyward put it this way, "...to try to be something other than human, is, for the priest or the layperson, to hide under a bushel the one most valuable gift any of us can give another: our willingness to share what we need, what we yearn for, what we experience, what we believe, what we doubt, what we fear, what we cherish, what we create, what we celebrate, what we grieve for, the stuff that being human is made of. To rise above this precious openness and vulnerability to one another and to the world itself is to snuff out the possibility of meeting God in the world." (Our Passion For Justice, "Compassion", Carter Heyward, pp. 234-235) It is within the context of such sharing of life that true ministry takes place, for it is in the midst of all life that we find God. It is as we truly share with each other, both offering and receiving encouragement and support, that we become the Church.

Finally, it seems to me that Reinhold Neibuhr summed it all up pretty well when he said, "Nothing that is worth doing can be achieved in a lifetime; therefore we must be saved by hope. Nothing which is true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history; therefore we must be saved by faith. Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore we are saved by love. No virtuous act is quite as virtuous from the standpoint of friends or foe as it is from our standpoint; therefore we must be saved by the final form of love, which is forgiveness."

May we receive Greg Skinner into our midst as one who is called by God to remind us that we have each been called by God. Together, may we be the Church. Amen.We are gathered here today to affirm a call from God and bear witness to the YES of an individual and the YES of the Church. In one sense it is the same call which comes to each of us - the call to be ministers in the name of Jesus Christ. On the back of our bulletins in this congregation every Sunday there is a line which reads, "Ministers: Every Member." But in another sense it is a very particular call to a particular individual to serve the Church in a particular way. The Church is saying in this service today that we also recognize and acknowledge this call in Greg's life. By our presence in this service of worship and by the actions we take here today we are ordaining Greg to a special kind of ministry in our midst.]]> Sermons http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=210 Sun, 2 Mar 2008 15:00:00 -0800 http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=208 Ephesians 5: 8-14 & John 9: 1-41
Roger C. Lynn
March 2, 2008
4th Sunday in Lent

It's really quite amazing how much in our lives we can begin to take for granted. Even miracles can fade into the background of our memory if we're not careful to remember. It is rather embarrassing to admit, but I hadn't really thought much about my "miracle" for a long time. It had, after all, been 25 years since my life had forever been changed. My life had moved on and my thoughts became occupied with other things. But it all came flooding back the day I heard the words in the letter from the Apostle Paul.

You see, I had moved to the city of Ephesus and had become involved in the Christian community there. It was a very exciting day when we heard that a letter had come to us from Paul. We gathered for worship that morning and the sense of anticipation was so strong it became hard to concentrate on the hymns and prayers which came before the sharing of the letter. Finally the moment came. An elder stood up and began to read. "Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, To the saints who are in Ephesus and are faithful in Christ Jesus: Grace to you and peace from God . . ." (Ephesians 1: 1-2) Silence fell on us as the reading continued. Line after line, powerful thoughts and images came rolling over us like waves in the sea. No one who was there would soon forget that day. I also was moved by what I was hearing, but it wasn't until quite some way into the reading that the flood gates of my memory came crashing open. "For once you were darkness, but now in God you are light. Live as children of light!" (Ephesians 5: 8) It was all so clear. Paul was talking about me!

You see, the world had once been darkness for me, literally. But then I met a man named Jesus and now the world is filled with light. It was a long time ago and I don't always think about it as often as I should, but my life was forever changed. I had been born blind, and believe me when I tell you that in those times, in that place, there was not much of a life waiting for someone in such a condition. Handouts and the pity of strangers will keep the body alive, but the spirit all but withers away under the constant humiliation. People act as if you are deaf as well as blind as they begin discussing your pathetic state and wondering aloud about whose sin it was that caused it all in the first place. But then one day, as I sat at the gates of the city waiting for people to take pity on me, someone came up and began to put mud on my eyes. I hadn't asked him to do it. I'm not certain I would have even wanted him to do it. My life wasn't much, but at least I knew what to expect from it. Now someone was trying to change it. It felt like an uninvited visitor in my home. But it all happened too quickly for me to argue or protest, or even comprehend much of what was going on. He told me to go and wash me eyes in the nearby pool, and so I did, if for no other reason than to get the mud off of my face. How could I have known that in that moment my life would forever be changed?

It is impossible to describe what it's like to be blind and then see, so I won't even try. Suffice it to say that the bars of my prison were washed away along with the mud from my eyes. I didn't know how or why and I didn't really care. I could see. Paul's words really do say it so well. "For once you were darkness, but now in God you are light." That is how my life felt! I even think Paul understood what happened next on that most amazing day, because after he wrote about being part of the Light, he added the admonition to live as children of the Light. You wouldn't think that such advise would be necessary. If you had been transformed into light, why would you need to be reminded to live as if it were true? But not everyone is glad to have their darkness filled with God's light. I know because I watched people try to close their eyes.

You would think everyone would have been happy for me and amazed at what had happened. That is certainly what I expected. But in the days which followed I began to discover that there is a blindness which has nothing to do with eyesight. There were those who were threatened by anything which was beyond their understanding and their control. They even dragged my parents into court, if you can believe it. When it became apparent that something extraordinary had happened to me, they wanted to know how it had happened. I told them honestly that I didn't really know. All I knew was that I had been blind and now I could see, and it all happened when the man named Jesus came into my life. That only seemed to make them angrier. They had already made up their minds about what was true, and my story didn't fit into their view of how the world works, so it must be wrong. They told me I must choose between Moses and Jesus, as if only one of them could be right. What was I supposed to say, standing their with my sight for the first time in my life? They cut me off from the Synagogue, but they couldn't take away what had been given me. I had a whole new life. And I came to realize that just because their eyes worked did not mean they could really see. Intentionally choosing the darkness is far more tragic than physical blindness will ever be. My eyesight was the least of what I gained that day. In following the path which Jesus showed me I found light to fill the darkness of my life.

So, years later, as I listened to the words of Paul, "...for everything that becomes visible is light. Therefore it says, 'Sleeper, awake! Rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.' " (Ephesians 5: 14) I knew that Paul spoke the truth. Jesus had come revealing God's light in our world. Indeed, when we follow Christ's way we become part of that light. All we have to do now is act like what we are - children of the light. We can choose to close our eyes, but such self-imposed blindness only keeps us from experiencing the full benefits of God's active presence in our lives and in our world. It's time to wake up, open our eyes and let God's light flood our souls. God really does work miracles. Open your eyes!It's really quite amazing how much in our lives we can begin to take for granted. Even miracles can fade into the background of our memory if we're not careful to remember. It is rather embarrassing to admit, but I hadn't really thought much about my "miracle" for a long time. It had, after all, been 25 years since my life had forever been changed. My life had moved on and my thoughts became occupied with other things. But it all came flooding back the day I heard the words in the letter from the Apostle Paul. ]]> Sermons http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=208 Sun, 2 Mar 2008 11:00:00 -0800 http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=209 Exodus 17: 1-7 & John 4: 5-30 & 39-42
Roger C. Lynn
February 24, 2008

As we move through this season of Lent the theme of wilderness emerges again and again. It is a powerful metaphor for faithful living - a place where danger and challenge seem to wait around every corner, and yet also a place where the presence of the Spirit can surprise us, precisely because it is outside of our normal, predictable routines. It is not necessarily a place we would choose to travel, but it can be a life-changing experience for those who do.

Wilderness can take a variety of forms. It is any experience which moves us beyond the boundaries of our comfort zone. Wherever we find ourselves overwhelmed by forces which seem beyond our control can be a wilderness experience for us. That will be different for each of us. For some it takes the form of a relationship that always seems to keep us off balance and in the grip of turmoil. For others it comes as a painful illness or debilitating physical condition. Sometimes wilderness can be an unsatisfying job, while for others it is the struggle of unemployment. There are times when wilderness is directly related to faith - a "dark night of the soul" time when God seems nowhere to be found. In all of the various forms it can take in our lives, we resonate with the idea of wilderness. We know what it is to feel as if we are lost and alone and forgotten. And, as with all those in scripture who find themselves in the midst of a wilderness experience, we have a choice. We can give in to the fear. We can let the darkness sweep over us. Or we can remember that even in the wilderness we are never alone. If we will pay attention, we can discover that in the very midst of the "wildness" of such experiences God's presence can come alive for us in powerful new ways which would never have been possible had we stayed in the easy, comfortable circumstances of our ordinary lives. What is required is that we let go of the need to be "in control" and "self-sufficient." Wilderness is a place where we can get lost, but it is also a place where we can be found.

One of the characteristics of a literal wilderness experience is often the seeming scarcity of water. Certainly this was true in the part of the world where much of the Bible was originally written. And this search for a source of water reflects our ongoing quest to quench our spiritual thirst for connection and meaning in our lives. We need water to survive and when we can't find it we can easily begin to panic. We lose sight of all the ways in which our life is sustained by God, not just in this moment but in every moment. The Hebrew people in the wilderness with Moses reveal this danger over and over again. On a regular basis they follow the predictable pattern of finding themselves faced with some hardship, at which point they panic and begin to complain to Moses. "Why did you bring us here to die?" In the particular case presented in our reading for this morning, the subject was water. They needed it and they weren't finding it. Please note that this is not an inconsequential concern. The point of the story is not that they were worried about nothing. The point is that they lost sight of the ongoing presence of God in their lives. Over and over again they were supported by the abundance of God. And over and over again they forgot and started to panic. Even in the wilderness there is abundance, the story tells us. But all too often our fears and our limited ways of perceiving the world around us prevent us from experiencing that abundance.

The 12th-century Sufi poet Rumi described such an experience this way:

Late,
by myself,
in the boat of myself,
no light and no land anywhere.
Cloud cover thick
I try to stay just above the surface.
Yet I'm already under
and living within
The Ocean.

In the Gospel story about Jesus and the woman at the well we find a different example of wilderness and abundance. It would have been a wilderness experience for Jesus because it was a situation beyond the boundaries of his cultural comfort zone. This story takes place in Samaria, home to a people despised by the Jews. They represented a corruption of the true faith, and contact with them was to be avoided whenever possible. In addition, the person with whom Jesus engages in conversation was a woman. Men and women did not easily interact in that culture. And the final straw would have been that she had a bad reputation. No one with any self-respect would have been seen talking to her. There was a reason why she was alone at the well in the middle of the day, instead of gathered with the other women early in the morning. And this is who Jesus is talking to. In the wilderness of that socially awkward and uncomfortable encounter, there would have been no water to be found, literal or metaphorical, if Jesus had been limited by the usual culturally imposed barriers. But because he was able too look beyond those barriers, an experience of the living waters of the sacred presence took place there in that wilderness.

The abundance of God is all around us. The waters of God's grace surround us in every moment of every day. And the only way to truly quench our thirst is when we take the risk of moving beyond our fear. In another of Rumi's poems, he invites us to "move within, but don't move the way fear makes you move." In the wilderness experiences of your living, where will you look to find the water?As we move through this season of Lent the theme of wilderness emerges again and again. It is a powerful metaphor for faithful living - a place where danger and challenge seem to wait around every corner, and yet also a place where the presence of the Spirit can surprise us, precisely because it is outside of our normal, predictable routines. It is not necessarily a place we would choose to travel, but it can be a life-changing experience for those who do.]]> Sermons http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=209 Sun, 24 Feb 2008 11:00:00 -0800 http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=207 Exodus 24: 12-18 & Matthew 17: 1-9
Roger C. Lynn
February 3, 2008
Transfiguration Sunday

God is all around us in every moment of every day. Many of us have come to believe this. And most of the time our awareness of this reality is fairly low. We go about our living, doing the things we do. Maybe we offer up the occasional prayer of thanks, or make a request for some guidance. Mostly we just put one foot in front of the other, dealing with each moment as it comes along. And all of that is really OK. But once in a while there are experiences which transform the very shape of our living. There are those moments when we become profoundly aware of the sacred quality of life - when the presence of God takes center stage, not to be ignored. Who can say exactly why it happens when it does. Who can say why one person has such an experience and not another. Certainly learning to pay attention increases the chance that we will notice. And yet there is strong evidence that such experiences remain unexpected and unpredictable. Moses goes up on the mountain and encounters the mysterious presence of the divine. Jesus takes three of his followers up onto the mountain to prayer, and they have a profoundly moving experience of the sacred. The scriptures are filled with stories of such experiences. And yet it is also clear that such experiences are not ordinary or commonplace. Such "mountaintop" encounters with God play an important role in living faithfully, but they do not define or contain such living. The temptation is certainly there - to stay in that moment forever. Peter, in the face of such an encounter, wants to erect some tents - to set up camp and just stay in that moment. But that's not how it works. Soon enough they were headed back down the mountain again - back into the thick of their living. The difference is that now they had something to sustain them - a glimpse of heaven to remember when they needed strength for their living here on earth. We need such reminders - that we are not alone and there is more to this world than we usually see. We need such reminders to keep us going. They don't happen all the time. Some people go their whole life watching for such an experience. Some spend the rest of their days cherishing the one glimpse they were fortunate enough to catch. But either way, I think maybe the result is the same - our awareness is raised and our living is transformed in the process. We are changed.

Frederick Beuchner describes such an experience in his novel "The Final Beast." I have always found this description to be powerful precisely because the elements of the experience are so ordinary. God's presence has the power to shine through even in the midst of our everyday living. A young minister named Nicolet finds himself behind his father's barn, hoping to have an encounter with Jesus which will rejuvenate his ministry and help him see everything more clearly. He is lying in the grass, his heart pounding, palms up, waiting for the air to part and the splendor of Christ to break through. " 'It must happen now,' he thought. . . Now, now, no longer daring not to dare, but opening his eyes to, suddenly the most superbly humdrum stand of neglected trees. . ." to a shoe lying in some high grass, and piles of leaves left over from last year. "Please," he whispered. "Please come. Jesus." He listens and waits, and then this happens:

"Two apple branches struck against each other with the limber clack of wood on wood. That was all - a tick-tock rattle of branches, but then he felt a fierce lurch of excitement at the beauty of daybreak, and was overwhelmed by the smells of summer coming, and then, starting back for home he was overcome by a kind of crazy gladness and beauty. 'Oh Jesus,' he thought, with a great lump in his throat and a crazy grin. 'Just clack-clack, but praise him,' he thought. Praise him. Maybe all his journeying had been only to bring him here to hear two branches hit each other twice like that, to see nothing cross the threshold but to see the threshold, to hear the dry clack-clack of the world's tongue at the approach of the approach perhaps of splendor."

In attempting to describe it to his friend a few moments later, Nicolet says this - "Whatever this is we move around through..." He raked his hand slowly back and forth through the air. "Reality...the air we breathe...this emptiness...If you could get hold of it by the corner somewhere, just slip your fingernail underneath and peel it back enough to find what's there behind it, I think you'd be...I think the dance that must go on back there, way down deep at the heart of space, where being comes from...There's dancing there. My kids have dreamed it. Emptiness is dancing there. The angels are dancing. And their feet scatter new worlds like dust. If we saw any more of that dance than we do, it would kill us for sure. The glory of it. Clack-clack is all a man can bear."

Sometimes we are Moses waiting for days in the fog - waiting for we know not even what. Sometimes we are Peter wanting desperately to capture the moment and preserve it forever. Sometimes we are Nicolet listening to the stunningly beautiful music of the sacred breaking through in the most mundane of circumstances. Most of the time we are simply ourselves, living our lives as best we can. In each of our moments, in all of our days, may we remember that glimpsed or unglimpsed, God is present, and the God who is present is calling us to live in this world so fully that others might begin to catch a glimpse of God in our living.God is all around us in every moment of every day. Many of us have come to believe this. And most of the time our awareness of this reality is fairly low. We go about our living, doing the things we do. Maybe we offer up the occasional prayer of thanks, or make a request for some guidance. Mostly we just put one foot in front of the other, dealing with each moment as it comes along. And all of that is really OK. But once in a while there are experiences which transform the very shape of our living. There are those moments when we become profoundly aware of the sacred quality of life - when the presence of God takes center stage, not to be ignored. Who can say exactly why it happens when it does. Who can say why one person has such an experience and not another. Certainly learning to pay attention increases the chance that we will notice. And yet there is strong evidence that such experiences remain unexpected and unpredictable. Moses goes up on the mountain and encounters the mysterious presence of the divine. Jesus takes three of his followers up onto the mountain to prayer, and they have a profoundly moving experience of the sacred. The scriptures are filled with stories of such experiences. And yet it is also clear that such experiences are not ordinary or commonplace. Such "mountaintop" encounters with God play an important role in living faithfully, but they do not define or contain such living.]]> Sermons http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=207 Sun, 3 Feb 2008 11:00:00 -0800 http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=206 Isaiah 49: 1-7 & John 1: 35-42
Roger C. Lynn
January 20, 2008

Isaiah speaks of being called by God for a grand and glorious purpose. The "servant" he writes about is not a single individual, but rather all people. Specifically he speaks of the people of Israel, but I do not believe it is too much of a stretch to hear in his words a bold proclamation for all of us. He writes at a time when the Hebrew people were living in exile in Babylon - far from home, far from the place where their faith found expression, far from all that was familiar and comforting. And into these bleak circumstances Isaiah speaks a powerful word of hope - that God is calling them to a life of meaning and purpose beyond anything they can possibly imagine. He challenges them to begin thinking in truly grand, global terms - to lift their eyes beyond their own perceived limitations and recognize the ways in which they can impact the world. "It is too small a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to restore the survivors of Israel; I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth." (Isaiah 49:6) Their purpose in life is far beyond merely taking care of themselves. They are called to be the bearers of God's light into the whole world.

This is such a dramatic vision because it seems to fly in the face of all the evidence. The people to whom Isaiah is writing do not even have control of their own destiny. They look back with longing to the glory days of King David, now long past and not likely to return. Isaiah gives voice to their apparent hopelessness when he writes, "I have labored in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity..." (Isaiah 49:4) How in the world are they supposed to be a light for others? They can't even find their light, let alone let it shine on anyone else. (Sound familiar?) But none of that seems to faze Isaiah. It's not that he is blind to the circumstances. He simply understands that present realities pale in comparison to the blazing light of God's presence and God's power and God's vision. He chooses to believe that God is calling us to live into the fullness of who we are created to be - beacons of God's light in the midst of the shadows of fear and despair that so often plague the people of the world.

Martha Beck is the mother of a son with Down's Syndrome. She wrote a book, "Expecting Adam," in which she reflects on the extraordinary lessons she has learned as a result of being Adam's mother. Near the end of the book she writes, "Living with Adam, loving Adam, has taught me a lot about the truth. He has taught me to look at things in themselves, not at the value a brutal and often senseless world assigns to them. As Adam's mother I have been able to see quite clearly that he is no less beautiful for being called ugly, no less wise for appearing dull, no less precious for being seen as worthless. And neither am I. Neither are you. Neither is any of us." She has come to understand the same lesson which Isaiah seems to have learned - there is more to us than meets the eye. If we believe what the world so often tells us about ourselves then we will very quickly find ourselves cowering in a corner with our eyes closed. But that would not be in keeping with our true nature. We are made by God, called by God, empowered by God to shine forth in the world!

We can live into this reality when we remember that we are not alone. We are not on our own. God is always and forever with us - as close to us as our breathing. Fear enters our experience when we lose sight of this important truth. Despair plagues us when we forget to pay attention to the larger reality of God's presence. In the opening verses of John's Gospel we find a description of Christ as the tangible experience of God. At one point in that description we find this phrase, "And the Word became flesh and lived among us..." (John 1:14) "Lived among us" can actually be translated as "pitched a tent in the midst of us..." God has set up camp with us and isn't going anywhere. In the passage from John's Gospel which we read this morning, the disciples of John the Baptist who follow Jesus ask the question, "Where are you staying?" It is a clear allusion to the reference a few verses earlier about the Word living among us. As John tells this story it becomes clear that one of the great questions with which we grapple is, "Where is God?" So often we do not have a sense of God's presence. We think we are alone. And so we ask, "Where are you staying? Where have you pitched your tent?" And Jesus' answer is perfect. He doesn't simply tell them. They likely wouldn't listen. And even if they did they wouldn't understand. It isn't the sort of thing we can be told. Instead he invites them to experience it for themselves. "Come and see," Jesus says to them. Come and see! Come spend some time in the company of someone who is in touch with God's presence. Come spend some time exploring what it might mean in your life if you too were open to God's presence. Come and see!

And when we begin to get in touch with this reality, when we begin to open ourselves to that which is all around us all of the time, then it becomes possible to believe the vision of Isaiah. Then it becomes possible to live as bearers of God's light to the world. Indeed when we get in touch with it in our own experience, we won't be able to hide it even if we try. In the words of the Irish poet Gerard Manley Hopkins, "The world is charged with the grandeur of God. It will flame out, like shining from shook foil -" Let God's light shine!Isaiah speaks of being called by God for a grand and glorious purpose. The "servant" he writes about is not a single individual, but rather all people. Specifically he speaks of the people of Israel, but I do not believe it is too much of a stretch to hear in his words a bold proclamation for all of us. He writes at a time when the Hebrew people were living in exile in Babylon - far from home, far from the place where their faith found expression, far from all that was familiar and comforting. And into these bleak circumstances Isaiah speaks a powerful word of hope - that God is calling them to a life of meaning and purpose beyond anything they can possibly imagine. He challenges them to begin thinking in truly grand, global terms - to lift their eyes beyond their own perceived limitations and recognize the ways in which they can impact the world. "It is too small a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to restore the survivors of Israel; I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth." (Isaiah 49:6) Their purpose in life is far beyond merely taking care of themselves. They are called to be the bearers of God's light into the whole world.

This is such a dramatic vision because it seems to fly in the face of all the evidence.]]> Sermons http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=206 Sun, 20 Jan 2008 11:00:00 -0800 http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=205 Isaiah 42: 1-9
Roger C. Lynn
January 13, 2008

Very early in the history of the movement which would eventually become Christianity, people saw in the writings of the prophet Isaiah a description of Jesus. Reading Matthew's Gospel, for example, you can almost imagine the author sitting at his writing table with pen and parchment in front of him and a copy of Isaiah open beside him. And it is easy to see why this would have happened. There are so many powerful passages in Isaiah which seem to describe the essence of who Jesus was. Why wouldn't you use such words? I know that in my own preaching down through the years, if I find a piece of writing that says what I am trying to say, and says it more eloquently than I could manage on my own, I do not hesitate to make use of those words.

The problem comes, however, when we begin to understand passages such as those found in Isaiah exclusively in terms of descriptions of Jesus. When we allow them to become only about someone else, then we have allowed much of their power to be drained away. Jesus never wanted the attention to remain focused on himself. He consistently pointed beyond himself to God, and to the relationship with God to which all of us are called. To "follow" Jesus means to walk the path which Jesus walked - to live into the faith which Jesus sought to live. When Isaiah first wrote the words which would later become associated with Jesus, he had a different subject in mind. "Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights; I have put my spirit upon him; he will bring forth justice to the nations." (Isaiah 42:1) The servant Isaiah envisions here is not a single individual - it is every individual. It is all of Israel. It is all of us.

The people of Israel had been beat up, put down, torn apart, cast aside. They had been walked on and walked over countless times by countless foreign powers. At the time when Isaiah 42 was being written they were living in exile, subject to the rule of another nation. Isaiah was envisioning the time when they would be returning home, and he was preparing them for that eventuality by challenging them to think beyond "business as usual." Theologian Walter Wink talks about the two options which our culture usually presents - we can be a doormat for others to walk on, or we can be the ones who do the walking. Wink suggests that the challenge for people of faith has always been to find "the third way." That is the challenge which Isaiah offers to the people of Israel (and through them to us). Listen to some of the phrases he uses to describe this "servant of God." They will "bring forth justice to the nations" (which includes those who have been oppressing them). "He will not cry or lift up his voice, or make it heard in the street; a bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench; he will faithfully bring forth justice." The footnote in my Bible says of this passage, "Israel is equipped for and given the task assigned to the ideal king. However, unlike that ideal king, the servant neither strikes the earth nor kills the wicked with his royal command; his voice is not even heard. He brings forth justice in a different way." Later in the passage, Isaiah speaks on behalf of God when he writes, "I have given you as a covenant to the people, a light to the nations..."

Yes, Isaiah is saying, you will be going home. Your suffering will not last forever. There is a future for you. And it cannot be simply "same song - next verse." God is calling you to a new reality, a new kind of future altogether. God is calling you to be servants who seek to heal the world.

Of course the Church saw such writing as a description of Jesus. That is exactly what Jesus' life was about. And like Isaiah, he sought to fulfill that vision by enlisting all of us into the challenge of bringing this new reality into being with our living. That is what it means to be a follower of Jesus. That is what it means to be a person of faith. Each of us - all of us - are called to bring forth justice in the world. Not through force. Not through violence. Not through "more of the same." But by putting our lives on the line in big and small ways, with the confidence that God is with us and God will use us to make a difference in the world.

And I continue to be inspired by those who share this life with me and offer the courageous example of their living as they seek to embody a "third way." This past week I heard an interview on NPR with Daoud Sultanzoy. Mr. Sultanzoy is a member of the Afghan Parliament. He is also a pilot, employed by an airline company in this country, spending part of his time here and part of his time there. He chose to return to Afghanistan and run for office after discovering that one of men who commandeered one of the planes on September 11th had been his student. He realized that he could serve as a bridge between the two world - that he could do something to make a difference. Two months ago he narrowly missed being killed when a delegation which he had been scheduled to be a part of was attacked and killed. He only survived because an illness had kept him at home. And yet, he continues to go back. He continues to stand in the brink. When asked why he does this, in the face of what appears to be a deteriorating situation, he responded by saying, "Democracy is a journey. People have to be courageous enough to take part. Fear cannot be an option."

What does this look like - this business of living faithfully? I don't really know for sure. Or maybe I do know, but am afraid to admit it. I believe that this kind of radical overhaul of the way the world works will not, cannot, be comfortable. Those of us who live in this country, in this community, with our cars and our cellphones and our health care, cannot even begin to imagine how difficult life is for vast numbers of people around the world. Anything even close to true "justice" will not be possible without a serious shakeup of pretty much everything associated with the current order of things. And, quite frankly, that scares me. On the one hand I absolutely believe that God is with us, and faith will see us through. And on the other hand I am unnerved just by thinking about where it might take us if we started to take Isaiah 42 even halfway seriously. For example, on a regular basis I am appalled, disgusted, sickened by some of the things which our government does with my tax dollars. And yet I continue to pay my taxes, because I have not yet found the courage, or the creativity, or the vision to take a different course of action. And I continue to search - I continue to struggle.

Isaiah knew that this vision would not be easy to realize. Indeed, it was nothing short of outlandish. Jesus knew that the life he sought to live, the life he called us to live, was not easy. Indeed, it eventually got him killed. Those of us who seek to be people of faith, who seek to follow where God would lead us, know that it will not be easy. And when we let ourselves even contemplate taking that seriously it scares us to death. The only reason we keep coming back to it, striving to find the courage to take even the next step on the journey, is because somewhere in the depth of our souls we know that it is the life to which God is calling us. And where God calls we will discover God's gifts of guidance and courage and strength. May we be faithful in our response.Very early in the history of the movement which would eventually become Christianity, people saw in the writings of the prophet Isaiah a description of Jesus. Reading Matthew's Gospel, for example, you can almost imagine the author sitting at his writing table with pen and parchment in front of him and a copy of Isaiah open beside him. And it is easy to see why this would have happened. There are so many powerful passages in Isaiah which seem to describe the essence of who Jesus was. Why wouldn't you use such words? I know that in my own preaching down through the years, if I find a piece of writing that says what I am trying to say, and says it more eloquently than I could manage on my own, I do not hesitate to make use of those words.]]> Sermons http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=205 Sun, 13 Jan 2008 11:00:00 -0800 http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=204 Isaiah 60: 1-6 & Matthew 2: 1-12
Roger C. Lynn
January 6, 2008
Epiphany

It really is a wild ride - this business of living faithfully. When we take it seriously it can inspire us to do things we might never have imagined (like following stars) and leads us to places we might never dream of going (like Bethlehem).

I love the birth narratives in Matthew and Luke. They are filled with such rich and imaginative imagery. I think we do ourselves a disservice, however, when we read these stories as one-time only, happened-to-someone-else sort of stories. I saw a program on PBS last month that spent an hour focusing on an in-depth analysis trying to figure out exactly who the wise men really were and where they came from. Through the whole program I kept thinking, "They are really missing the point here." If they are merely exotic figures from some far-distant time and place, or even more likely just a literary creation of the Gospel writer, then there really isn't much connection with our lives today. But what if we read the story as an invitation? What if we see it as an illustration of what might happen when we dare to keep our eyes and our hearts open to the presence of the sacred as it appears in the most unexpected ways?

Singer/songwriter David Wilcox approached the story in just such a way in his song "Miracle." In his introduction to the song during one of his concerts he talked about reading the story as a child in an illustrated children's book. One of the pages was filled with a picture of the brilliantly dazzling star. He remembers wondering why, if the star was so big and bright, only three people show up. But the truth is that the star is only big once we choose to follow.

Miracle:
(David Wilcox)

A bright star in the winter sky
Led to Bethlehem that night
But only three traveled there to see
And the rest just wished they might

Few will choose to follow
Out of all the star invites
Most will hide safe inside
With the lantern turned up bright

Waiting for a miracle

The journey was a long one
So the story's told
These three guys
Walking side by side
With their incense and gold

People all along the highway
They just shook their heads
They looked hard at that distant star
And went back to bed

'Cause they were
Waiting for a miracle

The star was dim and distant
To those who stayed at home
But every heart that follows
Behold a light was shone

And then he does what he frequently does in his songs - he lets their story flow into our story.

Hark! The herald angels sing
The song is bright and clear
It's so quiet on this road tonight
As the travelers' star appears

But right outside my window
Quiet as can be
All that time making up my mind
The angels wait for me

Waiting for a miracle

We can wait for a miracle to happen, wondering why bright stars never seem to appear for us to follow. Or we can pay attention to the stars that are already shining in our lives (however dim they might seem at first glance), listening for the ones that are calling us, and then take the risk to step out and follow with an openness to discover where life will take us.

Here's what Mark Twain had to say on the subject. "Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."

It doesn't happen all at once. There will be plenty of false starts and dead-ends. Not every star that beckons ought to be followed. And the only way to begin is to begin. What we will discover is that whenever we decide to take the first step, the angels will be waiting for us, ready to guide us on the journey.

So what might such stars look like in your life? What is it that is calling you into a new way of being in the world? In what out of the way, unexpected place will you discover the presence of the sacred? Will you notice? Will you follow?

It might very well appear to be something small and insignificant. When my wife (long before she was my wife) stepped onto the path that eventually led to her becoming a midwife, it was because someone invited her to a birth and then planted the seed that midwifery ought to be something she consider. It took years for her to actually follow where that star led her. And, in fact, following that star opened up an awareness of other stars, which led her ever further down the path. But it all began with her paying attention, and then daring to step out and follow.

Maybe your star is that little thrill you got when you tried praying in a new way and actually had a new sense of God's presence. Who can tell where following such a star might lead you? Maybe your star is your neighbor whom you visit a couple of times a week because no one else does. Stepping down that path of compassion might lead you into very unexpected places indeed. Maybe your star is the call you received to serve on a committee at the church in an area of responsibility you had never before considered. Following such a star might lead you to whole new ways of expressing your faith in the world.

Sometimes following stars will dramatically change our whole lives. Sometimes it will be far less dramatic, but no less significant. Sometimes we will need to pack up and leave our comforts and security behind as we head off into the unknown. Sometimes we'll be home by dinnertime. Always we will encounter the holy, and as a result the world will be healed, even if only in some small way.

The stars are still out there, waiting for us to follow. And the choice is clear - step out in faith, or go back to bed. I invite you to take the risk - follow your stars and be surprised where they lead you.It really is a wild ride - this business of living faithfully. When we take it seriously it can inspire us to do things we might never have imagined (like following stars) and leads us to places we might never dream of going (like Bethlehem).]]> Sermons http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=204 Sun, 6 Jan 2008 11:00:00 -0800 http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=203 Isaiah 7: 10-16 & Matthew 1: 18-25
Roger C. Lynn
December 23, 2007
Fourth Sunday in Advent

The prophet Isaiah longs for the day when people will trust God and seek God's guidance, rather than depending on the power of military might and political alliances. Isaiah's vision is outrageous in it's simplicity. He dreams of a time a young mother will be bold enough to trust in God's presence so completely, to trust in God's ongoing care so implicitly, to trust in the power of God's love so totally, that she names her child "God is with us!" In the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, Isaiah proclaims this vision.

As he attempts to tell the story of what Jesus' life and ministry was really all about, the writer of the Gospel of Matthew chooses to begin by drawing on Isaiah's vision. The longing is the same. In Jesus, Matthew sees the fulfillment of Isaiah's dream. We can get all caught up in discussions about biology, and whether or not the virgin birth is literally true. Such debates have certainly occupied the time and attention of a great many people down through the years, and no doubt will continue to do so. And I remain convinced that they pretty much miss the point. Matthew is trying to tell us something important about the profound meaning he finds revealed in the life of Jesus. Drawing on the hopes of Isaiah is one of the tools he uses to accomplish that task. All of the pieces of the story work together to open us up to the reality that God's love cannot be contained or understood by conventional wisdom or culturally accepted norms. However we understand Mary's pregnancy, from the outside looking in it would have been nothing less than a scandal. And yet, Matthew describes it as the work of the Holy Spirit.

At the heart of the narrative in today's reading from Matthew's Gospel, we find a description of what Jesus' purpose was all about. "She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins." (Matthew 1:21) It is one of those sentences that we barely even look at because there is so much preconceived baggage about what it means. We move at the speed of light from these open verses of Matthew to the description of the crucifixion to the centuries of commentary and interpretation and re-interpretation which have informed us that Jesus "died for our sins." But what happens if we slow down and really read what verse 21 says (to say nothing of what it doesn't say)? What if we ask the question, "What does it mean to say that Jesus saves his people from their sins?" Perhaps if can let go of our preconceived notions, we will discover a whole new meaning.

One very basic definition of sin is any action or attitude which blocks or inhibits our relationship with God. This is true not because of some unwillingness on God's part to be in relationship with us but because we are unable to recognize or receive God's presence. Working with this definition, one of the things which can be understood as sin is spending time and spiritual energy thinking that we are sinners. It gets in the way of being in relationship with God. When we walk around with our eyes focused on our shoelaces, believing we are unworthy pond scum, we tend not to notice most of the ways in which God is knocking at the door to our heart, just waiting for an invitation to be welcomed in. One of my favorite scenes in the farcical British comedy "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" is when God appears to King Arthur in a cloud. The first thing Arthur and all the knights do is fall to the ground and grovel, whimpering and muttering things like "I'm not worthy." At which point God tells them, in no uncertain terms, to get up and stop groveling.

What if Jesus "saving us from our sins" means literally saving us from the debilitating effects of thinking in such terms? Throughout his ministry he consistently points people towards a new way of understanding God and being in relationship with God. On numerous occasions he declares that people's sins were forgiven. In other words, he tells people to let go of that weight which is keeping them from full, rich relationship with the God who already loves them utterly and completely.

Let me be clear. We do not need to be "saved" from our sins in the sense that God is going to send us to Hell otherwise. If Heaven is being fully in the presence of God, then Hell is being in the absence of God. And since God is, by definition, everywhere, then the only way to be in Hell is by closing our eyes to the Heaven we are already in. God does not, will not, cannot send us there. We do far too good a job of putting ourselves there. That is literally what sin does - it puts us in the Hell of not recognizing God's presence. And that is what Jesus seeks to save us from. He calls us, points us, leads us, guides us to other ways of living, other ways of seeing God, other ways of being in relationship with God - ways which focus on love and acceptance, connection and community.

Isaiah longs for the day when the reality of "God with us" is fully recognized. Matthew sees that dream realized in the life and ministry of Jesus. At Christmas we celebrate the birth of one who sought to save us from our sins and set us free to live. The only question is whether or not we will choose to follow. When we choose to follow the path which Jesus shows us, when we choose to open ourselves to the presence of God which Jesus reveals to us, then we are saved from sin and saved to a life that is filled to overflowing with the sacred presence of the Divine. We are saved to the life we are created to live. May we choose such living!The prophet Isaiah longs for the day when people will trust God and seek God's guidance, rather than depending on the power of military might and political alliances. Isaiah's vision is outrageous in it's simplicity. He dreams of a time a young mother will be bold enough to trust in God's presence so completely, to trust in God's ongoing care so implicitly, to trust in the power of God's love so totally, that she names her child "God is with us!" In the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, Isaiah proclaims this vision.]]> Sermons http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=203 Sun, 23 Dec 2007 11:00:00 -0800 http://room2breathe.org/blog/index.php?itemid=202 Isaiah 35: 1-10 & Matthew 11: 2-5
Roger C. Lynn
December 16, 2007

The prophet Isaiah proclaims that there is joy coming. And to those who first heard his words he must have seemed more than a little bit crazy. The Hebrew people to whom this wild proclamation is addressed have been living in exile in a foreign land, cut off from home and family and faith. Life was hard. Life was not in their own control. And all the signs they could see pointed to more of the same. The wilderness and the desert were nothing more than barriers between them and where they wanted to be. Joy was not at all what the exiles would have been expecting. It simply was not on the radar. And yet, Isaiah looks beyond the current circumstances and dares to envision abundance springing forth at every turn. "The desert shall rejoice and blossom." (Isaiah 35:1)

John the Baptist has a similar experience with Jesus. He has been watching and waiting for the coming of God's reign. And mostly he doesn't seem to find much evidence. Just in case we might miss this point, Matthew introduces the scene by reminding us that John is in prison at the time, having run afoul of the political powers-that-be. He sends a message to Jesus, asking if he is "the one." You would think that if anyone could recognize the Messiah, it would be John. But apparently Jesus didn't quite match up with John's expectations. Maybe he was looking for a political leader. Maybe he was hoping for a military conquerer. Whatever the case, he doesn't seem certain about Jesus. And so he asks - "Are you the one?" Jesus' reply must have been a surprise, although like most surprises it really shouldn't have been. Quoting from Isaiah, Jesus says that the answer to John's question can be found by looking around at all of the unexpected ways in which God's activity in the world is being experienced.

If we rely simply on what we see going on around us, joy will frequently elude us. We don't have to look far to find unsettling news that can throw us off balance and drive joy completely beyond our awareness. And the message of Isaiah and Jesus still holds true for us.